Memory Keeper
by Niger Aquila
Summary: AU Fifty years after Voldemort won the war, all is well.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This is not really what I'm used to writing. The idea just came to me one day (see author's note at the end of the story) and I decided to give it a try. There's not much to say except that it's definitely not your usual 'Voldemort wins' story.

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**Memory Keeper**

Today is a special day. July thirty-first. My birthday.

All of my friends – both from the neighborhood and from Hogwarts – are going to come to my party tonight, as well as some of my relatives. I wonder what presents I'm going to receive this year. Would Dad finally give in and buy me a Dark Thunder 2050?

Pushing away the thought of my dream broomstick – for now - I walk over to my wardrobe and change into the clothes I've prepared for the party. It is three thirty right now, there should still be some time before the guests -

I hastily finish changing when someone suddenly knocks on my bedroom's door. Mum is cooking downstairs and Dad is still at work. Who could this be?

I pick up my wand from the bedside table, stuff it into my trousers' pocket, then cross the room and open the door.

"Grandma! I didn't know you've arrived!"

"Your mother is busy cooking in the kitchen, so I let myself in."

I grimace as Grandma gives me a tight hug. Still, I manage to give her a bright smile when she finally steps back.

"Look at you, Harry. You've grown a lot taller since I've last seen you."

And that was almost a year ago, if I remember correctly. Grandma seldom visits us even though our houses are connected through the floo network. When she does come over, she usually only stays for a few days before returning to that boring place she calls a home. I never understand how Grandma can stand living in a place completely devoid of technology – she doesn't even have a TV. I guess it might have something to do with her age, but sixty-nine is hardly old for a witch.

In any case, I'd rather not have Grandma standing here, inspecting my room.

"Come on, Grandma, let's go downstairs," I suggest.

But Grandma shakes her head. "There's something I'd like to give you before you go enjoy yourself with your friends."

My curiosity overcomes my discomfort of having Grandma in my room. Subtly, I glance around to make sure everything that should stay hidden – like those comics I bought yesterday - is safely out of sight.

Grandma pulls out a small book from her robe pocket – yes, she still wears a robe – then she walks deep into my territory and sits on the edge of my bed. She gestures me to sit beside her, which I do after a moment's hesitation.

"This is the diary of a girl named Katie Bell," says Grandma, handing me the book.

I have never heard of that name before. Puzzled, but don't want to appear impolite, I take the book from Grandma's hands. It is a leather-bound notebook. Its yellowed pages indicate its age.

"Katie was my friend when I was studying at Hogwarts," explains Grandma. "We were in different houses - she was a Gryffindor and I was a Hufflepuff – but we managed to stay friends until…" Grandma closed her eyes briefly, "until she decided to join the fight against Voldemort while I… I chose to stay behind."

I frown. "But why did she want to fight _against_ him? I mean, Voldemort fought _for_ the wizards and witches." History may not be my best subject, but I am at least aware of those basic facts.

"Is that what you are taught now?" Grandma asks quietly. "That Voldemort was a hero?"

"That's not what I mean," I say hastily. Something about the look in Grandma's eyes makes me feel very uneasy. "Voldemort was the leader of the wizarding community in Britain at that time," I recite, "but he was blinded by his belief that wizards and witches were better than the rest of the world. He started a war against the non-magical people and ended up causing a lot of deaths."

And of course anyone who was responsible for such a disaster could not be a hero, not that it matters anymore. Voldemort was assassinated shortly after the war against the non-magicals broke out. The killer was never found. Some say he was killed by a curse, others say he was shot in the head by a gun.

But even though most history books describe Lord Voldemort as a vicious man, I can't help thinking that we should thank him for starting that war. Otherwise we would still be forced to live in hiding and the rest of the world would still be ignorant to the existence of magic.

I, for one, simply cannot imagine not being able to use magic whenever I want. I have even heard that using magic in front of a non-magical used to be illegal in the past. How absurd that is.

I glance up at Grandma, whose continued silence is starting to unnerve me. What I said seems to have upset her greatly. I am about to say something just to break the uncomfortable atmosphere – and to change the subject - when Grandma finally speaks up.

"And have you ever wondered how Voldemort came to lead the entire wizarding population in Britain?" she asks.

I swallow at the intensity of Grandma' gaze and the fact that I do not know the answer. My history classes at Hogwarts only concentrates on the relation between the magicals and the non-magicals, explaining in great details how the two went from being enemies to living side by side in harmony.

"Voldemort was a dark wizard," Grandma explains, sparing me the embarrassment. "Many years before you were born, he started a war to gain power and to control Britain. He killed everyone who opposed him, even underage children." Grandma's gaze rested on the book in my hands. "Katie was killed at Hogwarts when Voldemort and his followers invaded the school."

I knew my school was a main battle zone during the war, but I have never heard of Voldemort's involvement in it. In face, the only war that I have heard of in recent history is the one against the non-magicals, not Voldemort.

"I received this diary from Katie's parents soon after Hogwarts fell and the war against Voldemort ended," Grandma continued. I looked down at the book in my hands. "There wasn't even a funeral because Katie, along with those who died fighting Voldemort, was regarded as criminals."

If this 'war' Grandma is talking about isn't mentioned in all of my history lessons, then even if it was real – which I still doubt - it couldn't be all that serious.

"Why are you telling me this, Grandma?" I ask. "And why are you giving me this book?"

"Because I believe it's time for you to learn the truth about our world," says Grandma. "Your father refused to listen and said I shouldn't talk about the past, but you are different. You are still young and your mind still hasn't been completely filled with the rubbish they teach you in school."

My uneasiness suddenly increases tenfold. My Dad is a high-ranking officer in the government and if he doesn't approve with what Grandma is doing now, then I shouldn't too.

I bit my lips, then hand the book back to Grandma. "I don't want it."

"What?"

"I don't want it, Grandma," I say firmly, pushing the book back to her and standing up. "Dad was right, you shouldn't talk about things like that. Whatever has happened in the past, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Doesn't matter anymore?" Grandma repeats. "Tell me, Harry, have you heard of the name Azkaban?"

I shake my head, unconsciously taking a step towards the door.

"Azkaban was a prison that housed the worst of the criminals in the wizarding world," Grandma says. "After the war – the war that you are told has never happened – those who have fought against Voldemort were either dead or simply vanished without a trace. Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, even some of the teachers at Hogwarts during that time, they all disappeared and was never heard of again. Do you want to know where they've been disposed of?"

A small part of me is horrified, but that small part is quickly squashed by my firm conviction that Grandma is merely making up all these.

"It doesn't matter anymore," I insist stiffly.

"Even though they may still be alive, locked away so that the rest of the world can continue to live in this illusion of peace?" pressed Grandma.

"It is not an illusion," the words are out of my mouth before I realize it.

Grandma eyes me with clear disappointment, but I hold her gaze defiantly.

"Did your parents ever tell you who you're named after?" asked Grandma after a while, breaking the tensed silence.

Named after? What is Grandma talking about now? Vaguely I remember my parents telling me that it was Grandma who named me.

"Harry is a common name," I reply.

Grandma sighs. "There was a boy named Harry Potter." She pauses, as if trying to see if I recognize that name. I don't. "He was the leader of the students who fought against Voldemort. He taught them – including Katie – to protect themselves and he gave them courage to fight for what was right. In order to save the wizarding world, he placed himself in countless dangers and faced Voldemort many times. The war was truly lost for us the moment Voldemort killed him." Grandma looks me in the eye. "Harry Potter was born on the thirty-first of July, just like you."

I don't know where the anger comes from, but hearing that my name is tied to a significant figure in the past – in Grandma's past – suddenly makes me feel as though I've been used… for what, I'm not sure.

"He died several decades before I was born, Grandma," I say, clenching my fists. "There isn't even a wizarding world anymore. There's just one world as far as I know – a world where everyone, magical or not, can live together."

I gesture at the two posters on the wall next to my bed. One is my favorite Quidditch team, the other my favorite football team. The players in both posters are waving at me when my eyes sweep past them.

"The world has changed, Grandma," I continue. "What's important is that it keeps changing for the better. The past… should stay in the past." I take a few steps back. I've had enough of this conversation. "I better go downstairs now, the guests should be arriving soon."

I turn around, but Grandma's soft voice stops me before I reach the door.

"Sometimes… sometimes I wish I had not turned away when Katie asked me to fight with her."

"Then you wouldn't have us, Grandma," I say somewhat coldly, reaching for the doorknob.

I open the door and slip out, then, pausing at the doorway, I glance back over my shoulder. Grandma looks years older all of a sudden. She is staring at the diary in her hands with unfocused eyes, lost in the memories of a whole different world that only she can remember.

I turn away from the sight and numbly walk away from my room. My feet carry me to the large window near the staircase. Glancing out from the window, I can see tiny figures flying freely on their broomsticks in the air. In the park near my home, several children are playing football, all wearing a happy grin of their faces.

This is my world. And for the sake of the future, the past should just remain where it should be - in the distant past.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath as the peaceful images chase away the lingering darkness in my mind. All is well.

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A/N: This story is written for those who have sacrificed their lives and freedom to fight for what they believe in exactly nineteen years and eleven months ago in a regrettably still unspeakable event. Also written for those who are still fighting to keep the memory of that event alive till this day.


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